


Out of Place

by Kereea



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kereea/pseuds/Kereea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian’s a bit out of sorts without much to do and his doubts and fears start to get the best of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Place

Dorian hates that he’s not sure when it started or even why it started. It’s just this… _thing_ and it’s driving him mad.

Sometimes he outright wonders what he’s doing here. Not what he’s doing with the Inquisition per say, but what he’s really _doing_ with the Inquisition, especially when not taken out questing with the Inquisitor.

It’s not like he really has a role at Skyhold. Bull has his Chargers, Vivienne assists with dealing with nobles, Cole helps people, Cassandra train the recruits, Solas studies the Fade, Varric writes and does merchant-things, Blackwall…carves and Sera might not do anything but she was the sort to like not doing anything.

Dorian sits in the library and studies. And while trying to find that stupid ancient-magister-darkspawn in history books _sounds_ like a good, solid goal it’s barely a hope of a wish at this point. And he’s rather getting annoyed at being so avoided. The rebel mages are skittish around him, wary of being seen with the “magister” and judged for it, so he’s hard up for company in the library.

Really. One would think after disavowing both magister-dom and blood magic multiple times a day for several months _someone_ outside the inner circle would have gotten it.

So part of it is that he feels useless. Another part is he comparatively feels useless to his…his…are he and Cullen at a point where he can call the Commander his significant other?

Anyway, he feels his contributions are positively insignificant to the man who is in charge of all their armies and troops. Cullen often works dawn to dusk, with a break maybe once every three days if he’s lucky.

So Dorian often feels guilty about how he wants more of Cullen’s time. Obviously the man’s duties come first, especially with the world falling down around their ears. So Dorian takes what he can get.

And really he’s lucky to get what he does.

Back home he wouldn’t have ever hoped for this much. For being with someone openly, not hiding in empty rooms for sex and never talking about it otherwise. He’s glad he has this.

Or, he’s been glad. He’s having issues figuring out what glad is at the moment and it annoys him because he knows he’s intelligent and should be able to figure it out.

He shuts his book in frustration. He’s getting nowhere and it’s nearly lunchtime. And at least lunchtime gives him something to do. Head down to the kitchens and grab something since Maker knows Cullen won’t do it on his own.

.o.o.o.

Cullen is still buried in reports when Dorian comes in with a plate bottle. He only even looks up when Dorian’s foot swipes the door shut a bit too hard, “Dorian!”

“Afternoon, Commander. Well, almost afternoon, anyway.” He’s glad the charm is instinctual. It hides the fact that part of him is annoyed he’s so obviously interrupting something because Cullen is a very busy man and…

“Is it really? Maker’s breath, there must be more of these than usual,” Cullen sighs. “I’m sorry, Dorian, I really need to-”

“Oh, get back to work, I know, just bringing up some food since Andraste herself knows you won’t think to get it on your own.” Is that too petty? It sounds petty.

“You’re right about that,” Cullen chuckles ruefully as Dorian sets down the plate of bread and cheese and bottle of ale on a table.

“I’m always right.”

His chest flutters as he hears Cullen’s chair scrape against the floor and footsteps draw close from behind. Strong arms wrap around his midsection as lips brush his ear, “What would I do without you, love?”

“Starve, obviously. Which would frankly inconvenience me far too much for me to allow it.” Oh now that’s just _mean,_ where the _Void_ did that come from?

Cullen lets go, chuckling, “Well we can’t have that.” He grabs some of the cheese and ale and takes it back to his desk.

Part of Dorian hopes there might be more but the rest is quite insistent that he’s being a needy thing because what Cullen does is important and…well, he’s less so. “I’ll take my leave then.”

Cullen catches his hand as he passes the desk, “I’m sorry for all this Dorian.”

“It’s your job Cullen, don’t apologize.” No need to shore Dorian up, he already knows this is more important than him and can accept that.

Cullen squeezes his fingers, “Well I haven’t gotten any new reports, so at least I can cut through all this. See you around dinnertime, perhaps?”

“Yes, perhaps. No need to consider me a distraction, though.”

“More like an incentive,” and he says it so charmingly that Dorian feels the mask of casual cheer he’s using might break as his heart starts thudding a bit too much.

“As you wish,” he manages before heading out the door.

Where is he going? Well, back to the library as it is his usual haunt, is it not? But what has he accomplished there? Weeks gone by looking for a name that even if it’s written down probably isn’t in the literature Skyhold has stored anyway…

.o.o.o.

Dorian almost yelps as he’s jerked awake, “What?”

“You’re going to hurt your neck,” Cullen chuckles.

Dorian shakes his head, trying to wake up. He’s in the library— _kaffas_ he fell asleep in the library!

“I went looking for you around dinner and didn’t see you in the tavern or great hall,” Cullen says. “Thought you might have gotten lost in your research.”

And instead Cullen finds him dozing. Lovely. “Well if there was anything to be found I would have.”

“I’m sure,” Cullen says. “Come, I had some food sent to my office. And I’m finally done with today’s work.”

That should cheer Dorian up more than it does. Why doesn’t it?

He muses over that as he follows Cullen back to the tower, participating along the way in a conversation about what a few new recruits and younger mages had gotten into that day.

“Andraste herself only knows how the roses became _electrified_ —they swear they were going for an ice spell, too, and Solas actually found it interesting enough to _interact with people_ to learn more so you know it was bad,” Cullen groans. “So Fiona read the mages the riot act and Cassandra read the recruits the riot act and while I was signing off that they had done that Vivienne demanded _she_ get to read someone the riot act and I think she’s going to aim for Fiona-”

“Thank you for the warning, I’ll vacate my nook at the slightest sign of Madame de Fer tomorrow then,” Dorian says.

“You’re welcome. If I’m lucky she won’t have somehow scared any apprentices into forgetting anything. Again.”

“She’s a formidable woman.” By which he means terrifying when angered. Then again so is the Inquisitor. And Leliana. And Cassandra. And that city elf from the Chargers.

Is ‘formidable’ a more gendered word than he’s realized? Oh, he’ll figure it out later, he smells food and hasn’t eaten much today. They seat themselves before continuing their chat.

“Indeed. Are you making any headway in your research?”

“Not the main topic, no. Very few books here even have anything that _could_ be useful, much less _is_ ,” Dorian sighs, cutting up some meat. “Some fun headway in organizing the library and spell research, though.”

“Well, at least you’re getting somewhere with the rest, then,” Cullen said. “Do you think we could order or borrow some books that might help?”

“Not sure they’re any that could be…easily acquired within our sphere of influence…” By which he means they’re likely in Tevinter or maybe Neverra if they’re lucky.

“I’m sure someone has something somewhere,” Cullen says. “Josephine’s complained in the past of Antivan nobles she knows who just collect rare books and then never read them. We could try there.”

“If you think it will help then by all means,” Dorian replies before drinking…it’s not as bad as the usual ale around here, is it maybe cider? He’s not sure. Not paying enough attention to be sure.

“So the names of the magisters who entered the Black City are somehow known in Tevinter?” Cullen asks.

“Somewhat,” Dorian says. “There are some families who trace their lineage to…not _exactly_ that, they won’t say it’s exactly that anyway, but it’s easy enough to find. But I’m hoping he’s no one’s ancestor, that he’s no one they’ll consider important at all.”

“But then why would there be records?” Cullen asked.

“Tevinter cares a _lot_ about its history, even if it’s history that seems inconsequential. You know how you and Josephine keep files? If the Inquisition was in Tevinter, it would be all-but guaranteed _someone_ would make sure to preserve or at least copy them so they’d be around two hundred years from now.”

“Remarkable. No wonder you’re not impressed by southern archivists,” Cullen laughs.

“I’m not…always unimpressed. I’ll admit, their history on the Divines is excellent. I likely know more about Divine Galatea than I know about my three most notable ancestors,” Dorian says.

“Including whether she shit on a Sunday?” Cullen asks dryly.

Dorian sputters, “W- _who_ told you?”

“Leliana. She thought it was hilarious. And said the whole library probably heard,” Cullen laughs.

“Oh, just want I needed to do, further upset the Chantry by loudly insulting former Divines,” Dorian groans. “The revered mother will be after my hide. Again.”

Reason number _whatever_ he’s bad for Cullen. The man’s a devout Chantry-Boy of an Andrastian. And the Chantry Mother thinks Dorian is a spy at best and a blood mage manipulating the Inquisition at worst.

“I’m sure she has more important things to do than chase an Altus around,” Cullen says.

“…Oh _vehendis_ please tell me she hasn’t been complaining to you?”

“Not particularly. Though she is Orlesian, and they tend to be rather…subtle about that sort of thing,” Cullen muses. “Might not have noticed if she was.”

“I’m sorry,” Dorian sighs.

“Don’t be. People around here seem to love rumors. Half the recruits and mages seem to think Cassandra and Varric are a couple.”

“Oh, but they’re adorable, Cullen!” he says, pretending to clutch at his heart before adding, “Don’t tell either one of them I said that.”

“Of course not,” Cullen says.

.o.o.o.

Eventually they relocate to the bed and Dorian, much to his displeasure, has _misgivings_. He’s not quite in the mood but maybe this will make him feel better, and so he doesn’t let on and merely strips with his usual smirk.

He just wants _this_ to feel the same, but…

But it feels…wrong, somehow. It hasn’t been quite as pleasurable as he’d used to find it for a little while, but tonight it feels just _hollow_. Oh, he acts as he always has, Cullen is a deeply attentive lover and deserves reward for that at least, even if Dorian doesn’t feel the way he used to, the way he _wants_ to at the kisses and touches.

And he wants to so much. He deeply wants to feel like he had, to take the joy in this he had not so long ago. Because this, _sex_ , is the part he is good at. He doesn’t understand relationships, real in-the-open relationships, isn’t sure he can give Cullen what the man wants but he’s always been good at sex, at least…

Even the bliss of the climax doesn’t last more than a hazy minute or so before it’s snatched away by that empty feeling he’s still not properly pinpointed.

Cullen cleans them both off, his expression making it clear he is still very much sated. Dorian’s glad that he’s happy, he wants nothing more in the world than for Cullen to be happy.

“I love you,” Cullen murmurs against his lips and the adoring look in his eyes, like Dorian hung the moon itself, makes Dorian want to cringe because he’s not _worth_ that kind of look, how can Cullen give it to him?

He’s not even sure what he says in reply, it’s flippant and egotistical and not what he _should_ say, he’s certain. He rolls onto his side, hoping sleep will help.

Cullen apparently doesn’t mind what Dorian said, because he laughs softly and snuffs the candles before settling behind Dorian, wrapping his arms around the mage’s middle like he always likes to do.

Dorian debates on sleeping. He’s not sure if he’s emotional or not right now, and emotional will just draw demons once he’s in the Fade. He’s not much in the mood for demons because he’s not much in the mood for fighting.

His throat itches. His vision, enabled by the pale moonlight drifting though Cullen’s still-unfixed ceiling, is blurring.

Everything just feels wrong. Why hadn’t the sex helped? He’d thought for sure if anything would make him feel better that would be it. But here he is, emptier than ever.

He’s barely aware of the choked sob he makes until he feels Cullen stiffen behind him. _Fasta vas_ now he’s screwed it up but good…

“Dorian?” is mumbled sleepily into his neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Why does his voice sound like that? He sounds half hysterical.

Cullen pulls away—now he’s gone and done it, couldn’t keep quiet about his own damn problems…

A hand on his shoulder pushes Dorian to lay down on his back as Cullen hovers over him. _Venhedis_ he can barely even make out the man’s face and _why is he even crying_?

“Dorian, please tell me.” The man has a very good I-am-concerned voice, Dorian will give him that.

Dorian manages to shrug. It’s an honest shrug, at least. “I don’t know.”

It’s no reasons and a million reasons and he’s not sure which, much less if he could voice any of them if it is the million.

Cullen wipes his cheeks tenderly. Dorian blinks away more tears and is able to make out the pensive look on Cullen’s face.

“Are you sure? Is it something I did? You can tell me if it was.”

Dorian wants to laugh. Something _Cullen_ did. As if that’s possible. “No, it wasn’t you.”

“Then what?”

“I…I told you. I don’t know.” And he doesn’t want to take time to hash it out, Cullen gets too little sleep as it is. He won’t cut into that. “I just feel…off.”

Cullen doesn’t look like he’s buying it, but the man shrugs, “All right, love.”

He settles down beside Dorian again, an arm around the mage’s chest. “I’ll be right here.”

Dorian swallows, “Thank you.”

.o.o.o.

He does not sleep well. Apparently his distress _was_ enough to attract demons and they kept him busy all night, avoiding possession.

Dorian finds he barely wants any of his breakfast and once again buries himself in the library. His “duty” of trying to find the name of an ancient magister is as fruitless as ever. Really, he’d be better served going with the Inquisitor but apparently Vivienne’s barriers and Solas’ fade knowledge are more useful than his necromancy, for the moment.

Maybe from now on, he’s not sure.

He takes a break and organizes some of the newer literature on new shelves.

He shouldn’t bother Cullen. Cullen actually has something important to do, handle the Inquisition’s armies and train its troops and plan things and such. It’s not like Dorian has anything important to say, like oh, _why are you with me, anyway, a noble mage from Tevinter who can only hurt your reputation?_ Nothing important.

Or _whatever_ do _you see in me? You’re not fond of magic or nobles and with what happened in Kirkwall_ …no. Dorian wasn’t fool enough to bring up Kirkwall to Cullen, Maker only knew how the man would take it. Or worse, whatever was before Kirkwall, what sometimes woke Cullen up screaming about demons and abominations.

_Why keep a mage in your bed when they haunt your nightmares?_

But really it all boiled down to one thing: _why me_?

Around noon he heads down to the kitchens to pick up food for Cullen, knowing the man’s likely forgotten to feed himself again and berating himself for obviously just using it as an excuse to see him.

It’s pretty much his one duty that actually accomplishes anything, though. He manages to sneak a few cookies onto the plate as well before heading for Cullen’s tower.

“Dorian!” Cullen sounds glad to see him, which is a bit of a balm. “Finally something good comes through my door.”

“Who is feeding you these lines, Commander? I assure you, you need only be yourself.” Not that Dorian doesn’t _really_ love the flirting, it’s just sometimes Cullen tries a bit hard.

Not that Dorian can talk. He’s trying very hard to act normal at the moment.

“We can’t all be accomplished flirts, Lord Pavus,” Cullen says drolly. “But I am glad you’re here.”

“Well I do have a way of brightening people’s day.” Not really. Not many people’s.

“You do,” Cullen agrees, getting up and dragging a chair over to the desk. “How has your day been thus far, then?”

“Dreadfully boring.” He has nothing to do, so that’s why, nothing to show for the paltry thing he’s been doing. “Nothing to report really.” Not that anyone would have told him if there was any important going on. “Went by the tavern.” Debated getting drunk, but for now he has elected to remain sober until after seeing if Cullen needs him for anything.

“Much the same, very standard reports,” Cullen says, taking some of the bread s Dorian sits. “If you’re not too busy could you do something for me?”

“Of course,” Doran says, perhaps a bit quickly but really he’ll kill to do something useful at this point.

“Those need to go to Leliana…and be apologized for about the state they’re in,” Cullen adds ruefully as he gestured to the documents in question.

“What are they?” Dorian asks, eyeing the crumpled papers.

“Do you ah…recall….my circumstances at the Winter Palace?” Cullen asked, blushing and ducking his head.

“I recall you were rather popular,” Dorian says. He’s thought it hilarious at the time, a bit less so now.

“Yes. Apparently at some point or other I was deemed a… _catch_ ,” Cullen says and it doesn’t matter how dark his tone is, Dorian’s heart drops to his shoes regardless because deep down it’s something he’s always known.

“How could you not be?” He manages cheer for now but as soon as he’s done he’s getting drunk. Very, very drunk. He does not want to think on this, wants it wiped from his mind.

“Anyway, there’s a lot who send letters asking after various things about me I have no care to answer. I frankly want to burn them but Leliana and Josephine are insistent on…using them somehow, I don’t know and I don’t _want_ to; apparently the fact that I’m _taken_ is unimportant,” Cullen says. “They’re supposed to go directly to the two of them but sometimes they end up on my desk…anyway, would you mind delivering them?”

“Of course,” Dorian repeats. He just has to maintain until he’s handed the things off, and then wine. “I mean of course not, I don’t mind, I…lost my train of thought there.”

He does not want to think about how much better than him Cullen can do, how he’s frankly a liability to his position….he just wants to _be_ with Cullen without thinking all these things but he cannot stop himself from it.

“It’s fine. I can’t tell you how many times I get overly distracted end up rereading the same sentence multiple times,” Cullen says. “Have you been feeling better?”

“What?”

“Last night. You weren’t…or were…are you feeling better?” Cullen asks.

“I…yes.”

“ _Dorian_.”

“I…should take these to Leliana,” he says, reaching for the letters.

Cullen catches his hand, “Dorian. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Doesn’t want to have to explain himself to Cullen, explain how he’s so wrong for all of this, let Cullen finally come to the realization that-

Oh. He just snapped. And Cullen lets go of him and regards him…Dorian’s not sure how he’s doing it but he thinks it’s negative.

“All right. My apologies,” Cullen said quietly. “I…I’ll…erm…”

He’s ruined it and he knows it. “Excuse me.”

He takes the letters and all-but runs.

.o.o.o.

After dropping the letters with the spymaster Dorian goes to the tavern and drinks. He shrugs off the present Chargers when they try to invite him over and apparently that tells them something since when Cole appears Krem all-but bolts across the tavern to drag the boy away before he can get a full sentence out and probably upset Dorian into yelling at him and then he’ll have to apologize later and it’ll be a mess for a few days.

Dorian spares a thought for how it’s cute the mercenaries apparently share their leader’s feelings on the boy: _to be treated as a younger sibling at all times_. It’s kind of adorable.

After he’s had a few glasses, Krem comes over again, “Cole _really_ wants to help. Should I let him or are you not drunk enough?”

“Go away.”

“Uh…huh.” Krem sits down. “What happened?”

“I said leave.”

“And you aren’t the chief.”

“I would like to be left alone, you nosy…nosy…” He knows there’s a word to use for Krem. It’s about how he’s too clever for his own good…does it start with an s..? _S-whatever_ that’s prying into his business because…they’re both from Tevinter? Maybe?

“Look, at the rate you’re going, you’ll get get cut off and then you’re going to get in a big argument about it with the bartender and it’s too early in the day for anyone to forget it. Rocky did that last month,” Krem says. “And I know you, Altus. Don’t want to go embarrassing the Inquisition.”

He glares at the mercenary, “And why do you care?”

“Cole wants to help. Want to know if it’ll be safe to help,” Krem says, swirling his beer in his mug.

“…No. Not tonight,” Dorian says. Cole is his friend, he will spare him of this.

“All right. Thanks for being upfront about it,” Krem says, heading back to the table.

Well that went easily.

Dorian asks for some food to be sent over so he’s not… _too_ drunk. Krem’s right about him not wanting to make a scene.

Krem is talking quietly to Cole, who is nodding. Dorian relaxes a bit when the boy vanishes—he’s sure being around his…pain, he supposes it’s pain…isn’t good for the boy.

He’s not sure how long he stays there. Long enough for Bull and Sera to both try checking in, the latter stealing his drink when he won’t cooperate with her questions (he’s not sure if he cooperated with Bull’s or not, stupid horned spies and their stupid guessing-right-when-told-nothing). He’s more sulking than anything right now, but he’s too muddied in the mind to think too much which is _nice_.

Until Cullen shows up.                                                    

Dorian’s not sure what’s worse, the fact that Cullen found him here or that his initial response is to put his head on his arms and groan.

“Come on.” Cullen is coolly detached and is that ever a bad sign. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“The sun’s still up.” Why say that? He should say how he’s sorry for mucking this all up…

“As though you will be standing by sunset,” Cullen sighs, shaking his head. “Come on, Dorian. You need to lie down.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.” Why _is_ he being so snappish today, anyway?

“Dorian Pavus you are walking with me right now.” It’s hissed sharply, the unyielding voice Cullen uses with his troops. It works, Dorian moves his feet.

They take a winding route, probably to avoid people. Dorian idly wonders how Cullen expects him to climb the ladder that leads to Cullen’s bed in this state.

Cullen shuts the door behind them. He looks…worried. “Care to tell me why Cole appear in y office in a panic over you?”

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian swears. “That sneaky little…and Krem put him up to it…!”

“Dorian. Talk to me. Please.” Cullen’s voice is steady, but there’s a hint of something brittle in it.

“I can’t…in case you haven’t noticed, amatus, I’m more than a bit…” he stumbles, which probably illustrates his inebriation better than any vocalization would.

“Then perhaps you’ll be more honest,” Cullen says.

Anger bubbles up, “You! You…you knew I was…going…” Still having trouble standing, he manages to lean against the wall.

“I made an educated guess. You start forcing your blithe-noble attitude a bit more than usual when you’re upset and when you’re upset you drink. That you were mad enough to snap…well,” Cullen says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dorian wonders if there’s any red racing up it yet, that gesture is usually followed by a blush…did the floor in here always tilt this much? “You let me do…this. To myself. Get dunk. Very drunk.”

“I doubt I’d have been able to stop you,” Cullen says because of course he’s the type to spout off inconvenient truths.

“I think it is…” and he’s looking for a word, it means ‘bad’ but carries more weight, shit, never mind, “ _bad_ of you to trick me like that!”

“You have a point,” Cullen agrees. “But can you please tell me why Cole was so panicked, then?”

No. No, no, _no_. He doesn’t want to, can’t explain it to Cullen. “I don’t know?” Is that a lie? He’s not sure. Wait why was it a _question_ …?

“All right,” Cullen says gently. “I just…I don’t understand, Dorian.”

“No. You don’t. Perfectly acceptable since I don’t. Or don’t always…why am I _talking_?” Dorian hisses angrily.

“Because you like to talk,” Cullen says calmly. Curse him and his calm. No, not him, maybe just the calm. Cullen is too pretty to curse.

The floor tilts again and Cullen is forced to catch him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“As much as I _love_ your bed, amatus, and it’s a nice bed, chilly but nice, there’s the small issue of the ladder,” Dorian mumbles into his neck. He gives up on standing on his own. Standing does not want to work right now. Neither does his head. He hates that he’s trying to make his head work since he doesn’t want to be the fool in front of Cullen but trying to make his head work _isn’t_ working and it’s frustrating.

“We’ll manage,” Cullen says.

Dorian’s inebriation prevents him from figuring out just how long it takes, or even what the last attempt was, but eventually he’s curled up on Cullen’s bed with the commander stroking his hair.

“You said you don’t understand this either?”

Dorian shakes his head. “Not all.” He doesn’t understand why he can’t take pleasure in what used to please him, but he does understand why he goes upset today. Because he screwed up.

“So you understand some of it?”

He sighs and shrugs. He doesn’t want to talk about it but Cullen does and he’s just so sick of it all.

“It was the letters, wasn’t it?”

Dorian feels himself stiffen a bit and hates that he gave it away so easily.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said. “I thought you’d find them funny. You seemed to think it was funny at the ball.”

“I did.” It’s true after all, he teased Cullen for days about it. Was an ass about it, really…

“But you don’t now and I apologize for upsetting you.”

“It’s not your fault.” It’s not Cullen’s fault that there’s obviously something wrong with him and even if there wasn’t it’s not Cullen’s fault Dorian’s a bad match for him in general.

“I hope you know I don’t care about any of the people who write those letters beyond some annoyance at their persistence,” Cullen said. “I swear, why they even think I have the time to look at such…I have _important_ things to do. Honestly.”

“I know. You’re the commander of the most important army in Thedas, they could have the decency to not steal your free time.”

“Especially since that free time all belongs to you,” Cullen chuckles, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“We should talk in the morning. When I’m sober,” Dorian murmurs. He’s tired as is and this is going nowhere. Or he thinks it is. Maybe. “Hopefully not when I’m hung over, though.”

“I’m not cruel enough to make you think with a hangover.”

Cullen helps him out of his clothes and into bed. The commander then picks up a stack of papers form the table in one hand, reading them as the other continues petting Dorian’s hair.

Dorian lets himself drift off—he’ll get nothing done tonight, anyway.

.o.o.o.

He wakes up alone.

Dorian sits up with a groan, his head weakly throbbing. He hates that wretched hole, streaming sunlight in like people actually _want_ that…

What time is it, anyway? The sun should be rather high, given what he’s seeing…

There’s a tray on the bedside table. A note and some water and bread.

Dorian manages to grab the note and water.

 _You didn’t want to wake up. Had to go run drills. See you around lunch to talk_. _CR_.

Talk? About what does Cullen want to…oh. Maker-damn it.

He sips at the water, trying to hash out what he did and did not say last night. It can’t have been all of it or Cullen wouldn’t still want to talk.

He’s sure the letters came up. And Cole…Cole told Cullen _something_ but not everything, obviously, or Cullen wouldn’t have questions.

And Krem is a _smartass_. How had he forgotten that word last night?

He remembers being curled against Cullen, the commander petting his hair. The commander being patient with him.

He doesn’t want to talk about this but vaguely knows he should do it anyway. He just doesn’t want to say it for far of making it truer than it already is.

.o.o.o.

He’s dressed and cleaned and all the rest by the time Cullen come through the door, a stack of reports under one arm and a covered tray of what smells like food in the other. Dorian is flipping through one of Cullen’s military books.

They’re dull, but they’re enough.

“Feeling all right?” Cullen asks.

“My head’s starting to stop pounding, if that’s what you mean,” Dorian replies.

“Would it be all right to talk?” Cullen asks.

“If you have the time,” Dorian says, re-shelving the book.

“Dorian, I can make time for you,” Cullen says steadily, setting his burdens down.

But that’s the rub. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I _know-_ ” well all right maybe he hasn’t known that… “-but I just… I don’t want to…to be a distraction or-”

“What?” Cullen asks.

“Cullen…your duties are more important,” Dorian said. “And I’m fine with-”

“ _What_?” Cullen repeats loudly, cutting him off.

“You’re the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies,” Dorian says, his voice quiet and controlled. He does not want to have this conversation. “You work yourself to the bone for them and I won’t have you push yourself further just for me.”

“Push myself?” Cullen asks. “Dorian what are even saying? Where did you come up with the idea that you’re…you’re some other obligation? If anything you’re a balm after I’ve overworked myself, not more work to be done!”

That slightly lifts his spirits. “I just…your time is valuable.”

“And I’ll spend it how I wish,” Cullen says. “Yes, a lot goes towards my duties but that doesn’t mean I have none for you. I’ll always have that, Dorian.”

He comes closer, cupping Dorian’s cheek in his hand, “Dorian is that what this is about? I mean, do you think you’re not important to me?”

“It’s not that,” Dorian says. “It’s…I just hope I’m right for you.”

“Dorian…I don’t understand,” Cullen says.

Dorian laughs. It’s a brittle thing. “Good, because don’t either. It…it makes no sense. You picking me of all people…”

“And what’s so wrong with you?” Cullen asks. “Dorian, you’re-”

“A lot of things you normally don’t like,” Dorian says, tugging away. “I mean…you, you hate nobles most of the time, and yet most of the things you complain about with them are things _I_ do too because _I am a noble_.”

“Dorian-”

“And I _know_ you’re not as all right with magic as you act around me, I know it still scares you in a lot of ways, _kaffas_ it’s hurt you more than anything else and…and…I’m a _mage_ ,” Dorian says helplessly.

“…And you thought I didn’t know that…?” Cullen asks, looking at him oddly.

“No! …Yes… _maybe_? I just…I’m made of things you don’t like and it makes no sense and I’m useless besides that and-” He feels like he can’t breathe and the room is trying to tilt even though he’s not drunk anymore.

Cullen takes his shoulders, “Dorian, _love_. Breathe. You’re going to give yourself a fit.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“No. Don’t…don’t apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong,” Cullen says quietly. “I think…I think I may have pressed this too hard.”

“As if I’d have ever told you on my own,” Dorian scoffs.

“We need to talk. Head on up,” Cullen says, nodding at the ladder. “Let me get the door and food.”

Dorian does as he’s told, climbing the ladder and sitting on their bed, kicking off his boots as he does the latter. Cullen’s behind him, the food shoved in a bag which he tosses to Dorian while taking off his armor.

Odd. Cullen’s never done that midday before.

“All right,” the commander says, settling next to him and digging some bread from the bag. “You’re going to eat and listen to what I have to say for a few minutes.”

“Fine,” Dorian says. He’s hungry anyway, having missed breakfast.

“Let’s start with magic, then,” Cullen says. “Yes, I fear it. As a general thing. And yes, Kinloch Hold…was the worst experience of my life. But I do not associate you with it, or with my fears.”

“How?” Dorian lights a lick of flame on his free hand. “I could burn you easily right now, after all.”

“I may be off lyrium, but I could still Silence you,” Cullen says. “But I won’t need to.”

Suddenly he reaches for the fire, which Dorian only just put out in time, “What the _Void_ are you thinking?”

“That you won’t burn me,” Cullen says bluntly. “I know you won’t hurt me, Dorian. I don’t fear _your_ magic.”

“And…being a noble?”

“Dorian, you are one of three who have actually seemed to make sense,” Cullen says. “And Hawke was never as good at the game as you and Vivienne.”

“…What about Josephine?” Dorian asks.

“Don’t tell her I said it, but most of the time I have _no_ idea what she’s talking about. She needs to explain things a bit more often…” Cullen sighs. “I mean, I can figure you out easily enough, and Vivienne made her reasons plain long ago…again, Hawke was Hawke…”

“Hawke is generally that sort of indescribable,” Dorian agrees. The Champion is likely turning the Wardens in the Anderfells upside down as they speak.

“And where did useless come from?” Cullen asks.

“I just…what do I really do here, amatus?” Dorian asks. “Hunt down something I’m unlikely to actually find even if we get better literature?”

“Well, discounting the help you give the Inquisitor when travelling and the fact that you keep the entire library organized—because in fact you seem to have become the librarian without trying—you do help me quite a lot,” Cullen said. “The Inquisitor even told me they’re scared if they start taking you out again I’d go forgetting meals, which is a bit ridiculous but-”

“Wait, it’s _your_ fault I haven’t been on a mission?” Dorian asks teasingly.

“…No? I told the Inquisitor not to worry.”

“It’s _you_ ; that means ‘worry more’ to the rest of us,” Dorian said. “Well, that’s at least an acceptable reason! I was afraid my skills were deemed…well…unneeded.”

“You’ve just been taking everything wrong lately, haven’t you?” Cullen asks. It’s clearly meant as a joke but is all too true and he sees Cullen’s eyes widen as it dawns on the former Templar. “You have.”

“Yes. I don’t like it and I don’t want to but...it just seems to happen,” Dorian sighs. “Maybe I’m just frustrated I my search and looking for trouble.”

“Don’t blame yourself for feeling poorly, Dorian. Andraste knows you never let me do it,” Cullen says firmly.

Dorian frowns. That is correct, he hates it when Cullen starts just doubting himself, berating himself for things beyond his…control… “ _Vehendis,_ I’m acting how I always tell you not to act, aren’t I?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Cullen says quickly. “I know I can’t help it sometimes, of course you can’t either. It’s just…you muddle through it.”

Muddle. Dorian wrinkles his nose, “It sounds dreadful when you put it like that.”

“It can feel that way,” Cullen admits. “Especially with how smart you are and how fast you think, you’re probably almost unable to _stop_ it from playing over and over in your head when you’ve nothing to do. At least I have reams of paperwork, annoying as it is.”

“Have you been granted the ability to read minds?” Dorian teases.

“I think just the ability to understand you,” Cullen replies. “You know what I think?”

“No, as I very much cannot read minds, unlike our dear commander.”

“I think,” Cullen says, chuckling at his cheek, “that you need to get out of the library more. You’re going to drive yourself mad at this rate. And I rather like you as you are, Dorian.”

“I doubt I’d wear madness well. The Venatori make it looks so unfashionable,” Dorian says.

“They don’t have your sense of style, I agree,” Cullen laughs. “And _tell_ me when you feel like this. I want to help.”

“I…will,” Dorian agrees.

“Good.” Cullen smiles. “Now, would you like to-”

Someone knocks on the door. “Commander! You’re needed in the war room!”

Dorian bursts out laughing.

It feels good.

.o.o.o.

A few days later and Dorian is at the tavern, taking a break, when someone decided to intrude.

“You look better.”

“And why are you here today, Krem?” Dorian asks. “I’m sure Cole needn’t flee me right now; I’m not in _that_ bad a mood.” He wouldn’t be in a bad one at all if he could have found the book he was looking for this morning but _no_ of course they have another archival hole. He’s given a note to Josephine… _Maker_ he _is_ the librarian, isn’t he?

“Can’t check on my fellow Vint?” the warrior teases. “But really, I need a favor.”

“Oh no, what _does_ the smartass Soporati need?” Dorian asks in mock trepidation.

“Chargers have an issue, Chief thought you could help. Feel like being an _amiable Altus_?” Krem’s smile is razor sharp and smartass has never been a better word for him.

And of course Bull would realize something like ‘Vint-mage hasn’t enough to do, should give him something to do’. He probably conspired with Cole on it. “We shall see.”

“Dalish, she’s our _archer_ , you know?” Krem asked. “Bow with the _glowing crystal_? Anyway, despite her _not_ being a mage she needs help from a mage with her…fire…arrows... Screw it. Want to help our not mage with not fire spells?”

“What are these not fire spells intended to accomplish?” Dorian asks, curiosity piqued.

“Well, if they were magic, which they’re not, it might look like a fire barrier,” Krem says.

“Might look like or _should_ look like?” Dorian asks.

“Should but it doesn’t so fix it,” Skinner says, sitting next to Krem. “The ghost boy is communicating with Grim. You might want to see it.”

“Wait, Cole might get something out of him?” Krem asks.

“He’s the one who doesn’t talk, right?” Dorian asks back.

“Right. Can’t miss this. Go find Dalish, though, okay?” Krem asks before rushing off with Skinner.

.o.o.o.

“You weren’t in the library,” Cullen says.

“Oh, did you go looking for me?” Dorian asks. The anxiety tries to seep back in and he only just manages to brush it aside.

“Just checking to see if you were there on the way to First Enchanter Fiona,” Cullen said. “Just setting a schedule for—anyway, where were you?”

“Helping a not mage with not fire spells.”

“Dalish the Charger?” So it’s that badly kept a secret.

“The same. And then Bull tried to get my drunk and then _Sera_ tried to get me drunk and then Cole hugged me and we discussed the implications of his abilities and their theoretical limits,” Dorian said. “It’s nice, not sitting alone digging though old tomes for a name once in a while.”

“Then maybe you need to take breaks more often…and where have I heard that before?” Cullen asks.

“Don’t start sassing me, Commander, or we’ll never get to eat,” Dorian says. He’s always liked when Cullen gets like that, teasing him…

“Then I’ll wait until after dinner…and finishing my work,” Cullen amends.

“Perhaps I might give you some…incentive…to finish it in the timely manner?” Dorian asks.

“If you feel like it,” Cullen agrees.

Dorian smirks. He thinks he just might.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic sprung into being when I wondered "what does Dorian do at Skyhold?" He's the sort of person I see really needing something to do (unlike, say, Sera who I can see as more content with just chilling) and other than looking up Cory (a pursuit which never bears fruit) he's got nothing. And with a mind like his you know it'll eventually wander into trouble when unoccupied...  
> I wrote the first 3500 words of this in one go two weeks ago and then had to struggle to get the rest out. Curse writer's block!  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


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